The Zsasz Hands
by Ex. Locally Grown Weeb
Summary: A compilation of short stories about Victor Zsasz and the Zsaszettes, plots ranging from Humor, Family, and to Angst.
1. It’s Raining Men

**This story won't be in any particular order, and won't always be on track with the canon events, with Vic and the Zsaszettes doing jobs or whatever that aren't even alluded to in the show. The stories will probably jump from past to present and won't be exactly chronological, but that'll be indicated in the disclaimer right here.**

**This story will also be on my Wattpad account MelasMelos under the same name.**

**I do not have a Beta, and therefor everything is my responsibility, especially the mistakes and typos that may exist.**

**Disclaimers; Trigger Warning for Sex Trafficking (Mentioned), Attempted Suicide, and Murder**

**I do not, in any way, shape or form, own Gotham, which is a darn shame because my faves would get more time. Anyways, rolling!**

Valentine was a girl filled with spite and self-loathing. She had grown up in the Narrows, a street kid with no name she cared to remember, no family, no friends. She was little more than a sort of animal, whose only instinct was to survive and stay away from everyone. She was a clever girl, though, who had gotten herself a decent way of life for a street kid, and knew the system like no one else did.

She understood that no one else but herself could keep her alive, and that, really, no one cared. It didn't bother her, that knowledge, because she didn't care about anyone else, either. She made her living in the streets from ages seven to age eighteen, and that was when the real trouble started; when she stopped being some gangling kid in black leather and hoodies, to a young woman, who, despite the greasiness of her black hair, the grunge on her features, and unflattering clothing, was quite an attractive girl, and the wrong people noticed.

The streets were a place where brain and brawn had to be seen in moderation; everyone had a place. The brains had brawn lackeys, or did it alone, and the brawn always found someone to be loyal to or someone to hit. But there was one thing for sure; street kids didn't have long lives, no matter who you were, and unless you made yourself useful in some demeaning way, you were screwed.

Valentine was a brain, who fought dirty and rarely lost, with a reputation preceding her despite how she kept to herself and only herself. But even so, there was little you and a group of frail girls could do against guns and a van, so there came the beginning of where the calculated Valentine would become the temperamental and spiteful woman she was on that bridge.

Valentine found herself in the trade of sex trafficking, and it was only by the grace of her spite that she didn't become broken like the other girls, only becoming more and more spiteful and furious as the two years dragged on. She wasn't sure what the breaking point was; the repulsive scent of ill-placed ignorance or rotten eggs, or just that she had always been teetering between homicidal and sane tendencies. She left that room with a bloody butter-knife in hand and a breathless laugh.

It all went downhill from there; or rather, it went uphill. She knew that there was no getting out of this without incarceration, or death, so she decided it was best to go out in a blaze of vengeful glory. Her employers were found brutally slaughtered in their homes, and a good number of ex-clients had been strangled, stripped, and, to be frank, with specific extremities missing. She was finished at last, and as she finished, the red left her vision and left herself feeling hollow, and almost wanting more.

Despite the great satisfaction as giving them all their due justice, and at getting her revenge, she couldn't help but feel like something had been taken away from her, something more than her dignity. Her reason for fueling on, the promise of revenge that she had focusing on the whole time, had been fulfilled, but had left nothing else in it's wake, nothing else. Which was, the exact reason she found herself at the bridge, pale hands tightly gripping the barrier as she stared down into the swirling depths of the river far underneath her, the moon reflecting in it's murky surface. Damn.

"You too?" a brittle voice asked from behind her, and she turned sharply to regard a tall man, who was wearing a suit ensemble that might've once been expensive, but was now just stained and hung raggedly on him. He was bald, and completely hairless, it seemed, lacking eyebrows, eyelashes, and any other facial hair. Honestly, she thought, he could be quite handsome, with a face cut from marble, if not for the sallowness of his skin and deep and dark bags under his eyes, like bruises. Besides that, she couldn't help a feeling of comfort when he approached. Someone else to be here at her hour of reckoning, someone who wouldn't try to stop her, or ask her why she had blood on her skirt, or really care in general.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Valentine replied with familiar snark, though she still smiled wearily at him, unsticking her hand from the cutting stone barrier and gesturing beside her, a position he took with grace. He hardly looked at her, but she looked at him, deducing that, once upon a time, he was quite a wealthy man, but that things had taken a shit turn, and here he was. Wasn't too uncommon, she supposed, but stranger bit were the guns holstered at his sides and the knife in his waistband. Yes, definitely not your average wealthy man.

"So what're those for?" Valentine asked, nodding towards the weapons. He gave her a grim smile and put his own ring-adorned hands on the barrier. "Options," came the simple, morbidly amusing answer.

"Huh."

Valentine turned back to the water, and with a graceful movement, she brought her legs over it, so that she could sit precariously on the edge. The man was watching her sharply with coffee-colored eyes, those of which nearly looked black, as she considered the waters below.

"The name is Victor Zsasz," he introduced suddenly, and Valentine brought her attention from the water back to him, raising a brow.

"Valentine. You can call me Val," she returned, and he hummed thoughtfully, although their strange peace was interrupted by a clearly homeless man hobbling towards them, a gun in shaky hands as he approached, looking half-mad and half-starved from more than just food. It was a look that Valentine easily recognized, and she swung her legs back over the ledge, standing on the deserted bridge again. How rude.

"Give me all you got!" he ordered, his smokers-voice harshly scraping the air. Valentine glared, hardly paying attention to Victor Zsasz besides her, and advancing, a cold breeze feebly blowing some black locks from her face and chilling bare shoulders. Victor held up hands in surrender, regarding the man sharply.

"We don't have-" he began, but a bullet whizzed past his head, and was only avoided due to great reflexes. Valentine cussed colorfully as she ducked down on the ground, not listening anymore to what the homeless guy was babbling, and only on a sudden flare in her chest, something not quite tied to the adrenaline racing through her, she thought. A sort of excitement she didn't dwell on.

Victor had pulled a gun, but the man actually tackled Victor, knocking the gun away as the pair rolled away. Valentine shot a hand out and grasped her fingers around the cool metal of the gun, straightening herself and taking aim, clicking safety off with a thumb. With zero hesitation, a crack sounded in the air as a bullet ripped through the man's shoulder. He gasped in pain, but neither he nor Valentine had any time to process or predict the knife that Victor pulled, and how, with zero hesitation, he had plunged it into the man's throat, eyes alight with fresh life.

"Shit," Valentine swore, not exactly feeling regret or satisfaction, just the euphoria from having survived the situation. Victor's hand was still tight on the handle of the blade, breathing just as heavily as she did.

"Still gonna kill ourselves?" Victor asked, finally pulling himself up and brushing off his pants, and suddenly he didn't look so weary and dead anymore. Valentine bit her lip, remembering how the gun had felt in her hand, how even though she still felt some bit of hollowness within her, a new feeling had risen within her; not the righteous fury of when she was killing her bosses and clients, but something new, something powerful. She had taken control of a chaotic situation, and had made it work for herself, with Victor dealing killing blow. The feeling of camaraderie came up as well, something utterly unfamiliar, and she smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in a while.

"I suppose not," she replied, tucking Victor's gun into the waistband of her skimpy skirt and began to pull the body to the edge, Victor quickly catching on, grabbing the legs so they could both fling the body over and down the the depths below.

"It's raining men," Victor quipped, reminiscent of the disco song, and Valentine began to laugh, laugh harder than she ever had, joining in with Victor, their laughter mostly fueled by hysterics, delirium, and adrenaline. Mostly hysterics on Victor's part.

"Let's go," Valentine said finally, and she knew, in that moment, that even if they both got caught and killed in only a few hours, it would have been worth it, because at least she had a friend in this mess.

**AN;**

**So there we go, with Victor and Valentine. I'm sorry that this was dealing with rough ass theme after rough ass theme, and was mostly more Drama and Crime than Humor. Next chapter will likely have more banter and light-heartedness between Victor and Valentine. This, by the way, is not necessarily a Romance story between Victor and Valentine, just putting that out there.**

**"It's Raining Men" by The Weather Girls**

**Valentine's Fc; Sofia Black-D'elia**


	2. Hot Stuff

**This one is set a couple months or so after the first chapter and the pair's first meeting. This one has more banter, and sets up some relationships between characters, relationships that I'm not quite how they will be relevant to any other story line, but they'll be there. Enter; Fish Mooney and Butch. Also, if anyone could tell what those suspender-things actually are called, that would b R.**

**Disclaimer; I do not have a beta reader, and therefor and and all mistakes are mine and mine along. I also, as of now, still don't own any part of Gotham, and I'm just doing my part in throwing fanfiction out into the void that no one asked for. **

**Enjoy!**

"So we've got a gig at Fish's place?" Valentine asked as she and Victor exited his car parked a few buildings away from the elusive bar, making sure that her black, long slicked back hair was immaculate in the side-view mirror, before standing straight, watching Victor. He had cleaned himself up a lot since she had first met him, so much so that she wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it happen with her own two eyes.

He was wearing a black velvet vest underneath his black blazer, buttoned at the middle. He wore all black, naturally, with black combat boots, his gun holsters, and the black suspender-things from his waist. He looked immaculate, and like he had his shit together. She was relieved, because even after the whole bridge incident, and especially then, he had stayed mopey, all until Carmine Falcone threatened Victor that if he didn't pull himself together, the deal was off; the two of them were his hired assassins, and he protected them from the authorities. It was a great deal, really, because a steady salary was coming from it as well. Thank God that Victor had known the Don since he was a kid, and that Victor was actually a trained killer. Y'know, just a hobby that went along with learning the piano, as all kids do.

"Yup. Our target will be entering the bar at around eleven o'clock, order some drinks, and then you swoop in and lure him away. We need as much space between the killing and Mooney's as possible," he relayed to her, and she nodded her understanding, stepping back a little and looking at the rest of her outfit and checking to make sure her small knife was suitably concealed underneath her skirt before catching up with Victor, who was making his way to the bar.

Though her outfit was a bit more provocative than she would have liked, it was necessary for this type of mission. She wore a red plaid mini-skirt over red fishnets, as well as black leather ankle boots with a sensible heel. Her shirt was red and short-sleeved, tucked into the skirt. Around her neck was a black leather collar-like choker, with a silver chain hanging from it and connecting to her thick black leather belt around her waist. She did admit that she quite liked the style, that it was more "her" than anything she had had to wear in the past, and at least in this she had chosen it. Also, she'd be lying if she said the thrill of a successful seduction didn't give her a similar power rush as murder with missions like this.

"So what does Fish want to talk to us about?" Valentine asked, and Victor shrugged, opening the door for her.

"I dunno. Wasn't really listening," he admitted cheekily, and Valentine snorted. Of course he hadn't been listening.

It was before hours in the bar, and so it was almost completely empty except for Fish, her own bodyguard and assassin, Butch Gilzean, the girl singing on stage, and a bartender.

The girl was dressed in a simple, semi-dingy body-hugging pink dress, and was standing almost timidly and shy at the mic, but none of that mattered, because her voice more beautiful than anything either Valentine nor Victor had heard in their lives. She was singing from the heart, you could tell, about heartbreak and pain, and her voice had the two murderers transfixed, standing dumb for a few moments before gaining their bearings and moving forward again.

She was beautiful, as well, with long blonde hair and a good height, her features delicate and also striking. Her eyes were blue and brilliant, lashes long and full. She had a minimal amount of makeup on, demure pink lipstick on and subtle blush. Upon noticing the disturbance, she hardly startled, only stopping when Fish brought up a hand and had her fingers together as she had them shut with her thumb, very much in the way one makes a simple shadow puppet as a child to mimic a crocodile or someone speaking. The girl quickly made her leave.

"Who was that?" Victor asked for the both of them, clearly interested in a way that usually only new guns or a new Lipps Inc. CD could produce. They both came up behind Fish at a respectable distance, hardly glancing at the hulking figure of Gilzean.

"Our new singer, Florence Gale," Fish answered, and Valentine glanced at Victor, taking in his thoughtful expression before looking back at Fish to give a respectful nod. Fish liked Valentine, in the way that they both appreciated a strong female. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to say that Fish almost admired and respected Valentine for how she got her revenge and rose up, although they both knew who was in charge; Fish, and that wouldn't change, and they certainly weren't friends.

"But that wasn't what I called you for," Fish continued, redirecting conversation to stand and turn to completely face them, the exact figure of confidence and composure.

"'Course," Victor said casually, clasping his hands behind his back. Valentine crossed her arms over her chest and a cast a quick, almost traditional glare at Gilzean, who just cracked a sort of smirk. Damn him.

"I want to make sure that his whole hit stays completely quite and innocuous. I don't want someone getting a bullet at the bar and have people start to think they aren't safe here. It's bad for business," Fish explained, and the pair nodded dutifully. Fish's intense and attractive amber eyes regarded them critically. As a whole, despite the pair's excellency at jobs, Fish still seemed reluctant to fully accept and trust them, even if the Zsasz's had apparently been a part of the "Family" before death.

"'Course. We have a plan," Victor assured, a playful smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes. Fish just narrowed her eyes at him and glared, laying a hand on the back of her chair.

"Right. Well I don't care what the plan is, just as long as we don't have to clean out Mr. Filibuster from the tablecloths," she drawled, and Victor continued to smirk and wink.

"Got it, Ms. Mooney," he said, backing up and away from Fish, already turning around, with Valentine following suit.

"Butch, go see them out," Fish ordered with a crisp snap, and Valentine inwardly scowled, moving closer to Victor than she usually was as Gilzean moved up beside them, somehow solemn and cocky at the same time. It infuriated her, and every instinct within her urged her to pull her knife from the concealed sheath she had underneath her skirt. Honestly, she hadn't really liked Butch when she first saw him, and from a single somewhat negative interaction had her annoyance of him rising tenfold every time he came near inexplicably. The rational part still left in her brain told her it was irrational to stay this passive aggressive towards him, but she stubbornly hung onto her dislike for him.

"Sure thing boss," he said, leading them out, though the ritual of sorts was completely unnecessary in Valentine's opinion, who glanced briefly at Victor when he tapped her hand with a finger, brows drawn together in concern and a little amusement. She just gave a brief shake of her head "no, not now" and continued staring in front of her they exited the establishment.

"Good luck," Gilzean bade, and Valentine walked a little easier once they were out, flexing her fingers anxiously as he left back into Mooney's.

"I think that went well," Victor declared, rolling his shoulders and striding towards the car confidently. Valentine snorted.

"I mean I guess. It's not like Gilzean isn't looking for a way to kill us so he doesn't have our competition," she stated sarcastically, roughly dropping into the passenger seat and angrily crossing her arms and legs, Victor getting into driver's seat with grace. As usual, Victor didn't comment on her paranoia.

"And the fact he's trying to get into your pants," he pointed out, slipping a cassette tape into the player of the car, smiling as "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer began playing.

"To be fair, he only flirted once," she grumbled, but quickly she diverted the subject, suddenly smirking wickedly as she looked at Victor, and she knew exactly what she could tease him with.

"Sooo, that Florence Gale chick, huh?" she prodded as they began careening down the street at definitely illegal speeds, watching as Victor frowned in slight annoyance. Thank God their particular car was protected against speeding tickets, thanks to the ever-generous Don Falcone.

"You know I have to focus on the road, Val," he attempted to dodge the tease, but she snorted derisively, opening up the glove box in front of her and pulling out a box of cigarettes and a light, casually pulling one out as she protested the lazy excuse.

"I've seen you shoot at people with both hands out the window at this speed, that's bullshit and we both know it," she stated as she lit the cigarette and stuck the lighter into her bra, glaring playfully at Victor, who was trying and failing to hide his smirk. Over the course of a few months together, Valentine had seriously learned how to open up, but only to Victor, glaring at almost everyone else who came within grabbing (or stabbing) distance. She had even been icy towards Carmine Falcone for a short while before warming up to his warm yet firm demeanor. The Don was a total gentleman, who didn't even have wandering eyes, always keeping eye-contact. He easily gained her respect.

"Besides, she's a beautiful woman, you're an attractive man..." she trailed off, sticking the cigarette between her teeth and letting him finish off whatever he thought in his own head, with a suggestive waggle of her brows and a sparkle of mischief in her black eyes.

"You're going to stink up my car," he said instead, referring to the cigarette, and she rolled her eyes, ignoring his smirk.

"Whatever. Be like that if you want," she huffed, and Victor slowed down a little bit as he made a sharp turn, one that Valentine had learned to prepare and brace herself for, holding onto her cigarette tightly between two fingers.

"It would be dangerous for her, and you know it, I don't want any emotional weaknesses," he explained, slowing down as they approached his favorite ice cream place, his usual glee at the promise of a milkshake absent as he looked at his friend and co-worker, who was looking thoughtful as she exhaled a ring of smoke.

"Perhaps. But who says friends with benefits don't exist? Or one-night stands," she parried, raising her brows at him. The song playing changed to some Michael Jackson song, one that Valentine actually liked out of Victor's cassette tapes. She glanced at the tape he had put in. It was labeled, in very careful writing "Mood #69". Was she too surprised that Victor casually had what was most definitely a sex tape in his car? Not at all. Was she surprised that he had a sex tape in his car, and yet still avoided the activity? Nope. He was weird like that. She also wasn't too sure how she felt knowing he was playing a sex tape with not only her in the car, but also that she now knew what it was. She mentally deleted the thought, and focused on his talking again.

"Besides, I'm sure she's got a nice life, free of violence and all that. I've probably seen more blood than she will in her entire life," he said further, and Valentine exhaled heavily again, something like a laugh. For how clever he was, he really did speak before thinking sometimes.

"Vicky, I doubt that for some reason, all of that," she said, and before he could retort, she continued. "You know, with her being a woman with a menstruation cycle and all." Victor snorted this time, looking away in what Valentine would've said was embarrassment, if she didn't know Victor Zsasz could never be embarrassed, not really, though there was some pigment to his cheeks.

"What if I said I wasn't interested?" he asked now as they exited the car, and Valentine found an easily reply to this one, smirking.

"I wouldn't believe you." Victor rolled his eyes now, and Valentine grinned in triumph. He was done with this conversation, and was more than ready to get himself a milkshake.

"Ass," was his only reply, followed by a chuckle from said ass. Checkmate.

**AN;**

**Well, there we go! I'm kind of just setting up some stuff, the opportunity for new characters. I think I'll definitely be revisiting this specific hit at least once, probably sooner rather than later. I hope I'm able to nail Victor's character down, although he is basically just a walking ball of sass most of the time. Also, I'm setting up an actual "romance" ship between him and Florence, I'm unwilling to tie him down to anyone here.**

**"Hot Stuff" by Donna Summers**

**Florence Gale's Fc; Gigi Hadid**


	3. We Are Family

**This chapter is set immediately after the first chapter with Victor and Valentine at the bridge, and introduces a new character. This one is more angst and whump, and it's a bit shorter than the previous two (I think, I'm honestly not too sure). So, here we go again. I'm not sure if the Murder TW is needed (it is Gotham, it hasn't been a full day if someone hasn't gotten their brains blasted).**

**Disclaimer; Attempted Suicide (Mentioned), Murder (Mentioned), Gambling (Mentioned), Drug Addiction (Mentioned), Alcoholism (Mentioned) **

**I don't have beta, therefor everything is my fault. I mean everything. If I had a beta they would have probably stopped me long ago.**

**I still don't own Gotham. Are you surprised? Probably not.**

Czarina Zsasz could be called many things. She preferred some labels over others, such as artist over sociopath, and composed over cold-hearted. Her favorite title, was, of course, the one she had dictated; Hourglass, thanks to her calling card. In Metropolis she had no name, no name besides Hourglass. In Metropolis she wasn't some young girl with dead parents, a dead brother, and another gambling, drug-addicted, alcoholic brother. She was a force of nature, an assassin of the highest demand.

But one thing she most certainly wasn't, as many people thought, was loveless.

The only reason she was back into Gotham was a call from her and her brother's godfather, Carmine Falcone, a phone call that was about as urgent as a call from him could get; meaning, composed and calm, but still with a note of controlled urgency. And so, she instantly knew that this must be about Victor, and she had immediately finished up the job, left her calling card, and stepped on the gas.

Upon entering the Falcone Manor, she noticed the deliciously rusty scent of blood, though it was invisible to the eye. Even so, she drew her gun in caution and entered the main foyer with cool confidence, gun ready to shoot. Luckily, no one needed to stain the carpet tonight, and was greeted by the sort-of comforting sight of her brother looking not-dead, seated next to a stiff and rim-rod-straight girl who looked like a hooker, and Carmine Falcone. The odd pair were on the sofa and her godfather seated in an armchair, looking solemn.

Frankly, Victor looked like shit, blood on his shirt, everything about him undone and ragged. The girl next to him had blood clumped in her black hair, and smeared on her pale face. Her whole skirt and fishnets hooker ensemble was nearly soaked completely in blood, and honestly she herself looked like she hadn't had real sleep in a long, several days, dark bags underneath her bloodshot eyes, and the paleness of her skin almost a little grey. _That was not healthy_, Czarina thought distractedly.

"Well, Victor, are you going to tell your sister what happened, or do I have to?" Falcone asked, and Czarina narrowed her eyes, putting her gun in it's holster at her hip. There were no formalities, Carmine had gone straight to the point.

Victor didn't say anything, just clenching his clasped hands a little tighter, elbows resting on his knees as he stared straight ahead. There was a pregnant pause in the air, one where Czarina kept her gaze on Victor the whole time, a horrible sinking feeling in her gut. She didn't have to have him tell her what he had tried to do, she could already guess.

"I was going to kill myself tonight," Victor stated quietly, gravely, almost suddenly, and Czarina felt bile rise into her throat, as well as a sort of anger, one that she stamped down viciously.

"What stopped you?" she found herself asking, gloved hands clenched into tight fists, voice barely above a whisper, though it carried. This time, Victor looked to his companion, and said companion gulped a little nervously, gathering the material of her black skirt in fists, a silent plead in her eyes towards Victor. He didn't heed it.

"I- we got mugged." The girl's voice was raspy and brittle, and suddenly her too-light blue eyes were fixed on some unseen point in the wallpaper. She was done talking, and Czarina knew better than to ask her anything else, not even her name. Czarina wasn't too sure she cared much about the girl, though, striding towards her brother. Her heels clicked against hardwood and were muffled against the carpet. She seized his chin in a dainty yet firm hand, forcing him to meet her gaze, her own eyes becoming a bit misty despite her best efforts.

Without a word, Carmine stood up, motioning for the hooker girl to do the same, and they left. Czarina sat down on the edge of the coffee table, looking at her younger brother with a mixture of disappointment, fear, and sadness. She honestly wasn't sure where to start.

Part of her wanted to sit down somewhere and cry, and never stop, and to just ask herself how things had gotten this bad. Another wanted to scream and hit Victor, demand him why he thought that would have been okay, why he thought he had a right to leave her like that, especially after so much had already been robbed of them. Still, another part, the one that won out over the rest, wanted to hug her little brother tight and never let go, and just hold onto him now that she could.

Czarina threw her arms around her brother, and with no hesitation, he did the same, and for the first time since he was a child, and had been losing his hair, he allowed himself to sob into her shoulder, and soon they were both crying and holding onto each other, even if the position was somewhat uncomfortable. Hell, Victor hadn't even cried at the funeral, just sitting there numb and lifeless, something in his eyes that his sister couldn't ever place.

When they finally separated, Czarina wiped away his tears with a gentle thumb, having taken off her gloves, and tried for a smile. He was broken, completely and utterly broken, more than he had been before, somehow. It was up to her to pick up the pieces and fix him, properly this time.

"I- I killed a man today," he confessed, and Czarina caught her breath, looking searchingly into his dark eyes. He looked somewhat lost, but she recognized another look, one that she knew personally; something between liberation and satisfaction. Czarina bit her lip a bit nervously, and though she knew she'd be a hypocrite to guide her brother away from this path, she couldn't help but imagine the little, golden-curled boy he'd once been, and had a strong urge to protect him from the violence, though she knew it too late.

"The mugger?" she asked, and he nodded in confirmation as she took his blood-stained hands into hers and held them firmly.

"Me and Val threw the body over the bridge," he further elaborated, and she smiled a bit proudly. Of course, her brother still had some sense to him; to dispose of the body. There was a bit of a pause between them, and Czarina gazed down at his hands, those of which were trembling. She took one of her hands and brought it up, cupping his cheek and squeezing his hands firmly with the other.

"Victor," she began sincerely, "know that I am always going to be there for you, okay?" When he nodded, she put their foreheads together, staring deeply into his eyes, hoping to convey every bit of her feelings to him.

"And never, and I mean _never_, try something like that again, you hear me? I don't think I can afford to lose someone else whom I love, it would- it would destroy me," she could hear her voice breaking, and Victor had to nod again, another tear escaping as he screwed his eyes tight shut. Czarina breathed out a sigh of something almost like relief, and kissed his forehead, hugging him tightly again.

"Let's go, _l'vionak," _she whispered, "time to get some rest."

**Oof, so we've got a new character, and I addressed Victor's bridge thing. Sorry there wasn't much Valentine in this one, if you guys really like her, but we did have a some Carmine, who I hope I wrote in character. I know Victor was, totally unfamiliar in this chapter, but I liked the idea of him opening up to his sister, and the bond between them. Speaking of whom, I know you haven't seen much of Czarina yet, but I hope you guys end up liking her, because I do, but that's probs cause I have her way more developed in my head than you guys. Lol**

**Also, the dead brother I'm referring to is a "Douglas" I've spotted on Zsasz's bio for the comics, so I threw him in there. **

**l'vionak; a Russian term of endearment meaning "little lion"**

**"We Are Family" by Sister Sledge (I was on the fence with the song I chose for the title, cause this is hella depressy, but oh well)**

**Czarina Zsasz's Fc; Ella Purnell**


	4. Night Fever

**Ayy, so before I say anything about this chapter, I just really want to thank the people who Followed, Favorited, and Reviewed. Like, I saw it and my face cleared, depression gone, whole thing I was hella happy. I'm glad at least someone is enjoying this. Also, I completely agree with the Guest about lil whump baby Victor. He deserves better (and a boss who appreciates him, I mean, I love Ozzie, but a lil respect for Victor would've been nice).**

**So, this chapter is the same day as "Hot Stuff" was, which was the one with Valentine and Victor approaching a job and milkshakes after. I like to think I used a little more of my (not) amazing wit and humor in this one, so yeah.**

**Disclaimer; Murder, Sugar Daddy**

**I don't have a beta, therefor the mistakes in this are all mine.**

**I still don't own Gotham, and I'm realizing I should've just put that in the story summary way long ago. Am I going to? Lol no I'm still too lazy.**

Valentine made her way to the bar of Fish Mooney's, her gaze locked almost predatorily on her target; Fredrick Filibuster, who was swirling his pink drink with the pink umbrella in it. His mind would already be a bit fuzzy, more open to her suggestion, although even if he was totally sober he probably wouldn't have resisted the seduction. Men rarely did, and especially not to her.

One problem; Florence Gale. The singer wasn't working tonight, Valentine knew, seeing as she had literally just been hired, and yet she was here, also advancing on Valentine's own target, though already too close, and already noticed by Filibuster. Thus, Valentine was forced to spin on her heel and pull out her phone from a pocket, flipping it open and calling Victor, who's contact info was, endearingly, "Fester Addams".

"Yes?" he asked shortly and crisply, as always when on a job. The only thing that ruined it was the fact that some disco song could be clearly heard in the speaker. She really would have to talk to him about that little obsession of his and get him some help, even if just for her own remaining sanity.

"Well," she glanced at Gale, who had sit a little too close to Filibuster to be platonic, and licked her own lips, "there's a complication."

"Oh?" Victor actually sounded a little surprised, and the sound of _Chic_ being quieted down shortly followed. On a side note, Valentine didn't know what was more alarming, the fact that Victor almost sounded nervous, or the fact that she could tell which band the disco song belonged to just by the sound of it. Maybe she was the one that needed help, homicidal tendencies not-withstanding.

"Florence Gale, looks like they're friendly," she glanced at them again, noting how Gale's hand was on Filibuster's thigh, and he was actually smiling. "If you know what I mean."

"And I thought she was a nice girl," Victor sighed laboriously, and Valentine smirked at the quip, and then immediately glared at a set of wandering eyes in the crowd.

"Want me to get close?" Valentine asked, and to her distress Victor was turning the music up again, and she glanced at the singer and the target, who were definitely cozy, with Gale kissing Filibuster softly, almost lovingly, though there was something wrong with it. Maybe it was the fact that the only part of her melting into the kiss was her lips, and her shoulders seemed tense. Huh.

"Keep me posted," was all Victor said after some consideration, and with a certain relief, Valentine snapped the phone shut and put it in a pocket, letting her brain be cleansed from the disco and by the violin, which she also didn't really like, but it was better than Victor's idea of music. (Although, to be fair, Valentine hadn't liked music in general, even as a kid. It still left Victor clutching his heart in faux-offense and heartbreak while reciting depressing and forlorn Shakespeare when she denounced his music.)

Valentine made her way to the bar and sat a seat over from Filibuster, close enough to hear but not too close to be too suspicious. She ordered gin and tonic, and busied her hands with tracing the patterns on the polished wood whilst she casually eaves-dropped and awaited her drink.

"Rennie, I don't know how I'm going to get out of this one," Filibuster whispered, and Valentine snuck a side glance to note how Gale had the most attentive and sincere look on her pretty features as she nodded along. Valentine graciously accepted the drink as it came to her and took a sip.

"Have you tried talking to the Don? Perhaps he might understand, give you some mercy?" Florence asked in a low murmur, and Filibuster despairingly shook his head as he requested a refill.

"I'm done for, Rennie. I think he might have that new hitman of his and that chick after me," he accepted the refill and continued, "and if he has, I'm already done for." Valentine snuck another glance, and when she did, something strange flashed behind Gale's eyes, but was gone so quickly Valentine almost wondered if she had seen anything at all. But she didn't, because she trusted her eyes and her gut, so she just averted her gaze and took another sip of her drink in moderation. It didn't do to get drunk on a job.

"Well, do you at least have your affairs in order?" Gale asked, and as she did she took a black gloved hand (a detail recently noticed by Valentine) and picked up Filibuster's glass daintily, taking a small sip.

"Yes. The will is all done, my personal debts are paid," Filibuster shrugged, "I'm just a sitting duck until the train tomorrow." Valentine furrowed her brows a bit at the strange question, but quickly connected the dots. Oh. Oh. _Oh_.

What happened next happened so quick that this time Valentine was actually questioning "what the hell did I just see" because suddenly her and Victor's job was taken care of for them, and it was something so "out there" she was actually surprised.

Filibuster was looking down, presumably at joined hands, and so Gale had a clear chance to discreetly dump a small vial of clear-colored liquid into his drink, disguise the movement as swirling his drink with another bright-colored umbrella, then drop the vial to the floor. A shift from the woman suggested she was crushing the vial, a sight that was confirmed with the remains of chunky powder on the floor. Did she really just- was she serious- she really did just poison a man, and completely for the money? Valentine was actually kinda gobsmacked- not that anyone would do that, but that Florence Gale was doing it.

"Let's go for a walk, Fred," Gale suggested in the supportive tone you wouldn't expect from someone you just saw pour something in their lover's drink, and she stood up. Honestly, Valentine had been expecting a little more venom, more saccharine dipped phrases, maybe a greedy simper.

As she stood, Valentine realized a little too late she had been blatantly staring. The two women locked eyes, and Valentine honestly felt her blood run cold upon realizing she had been caught, as well as the unfamiliar feeling of awkwardness and embarrassment. Gale smirked slightly, and as Filibuster stood up, he grabbed the drink and chugged it down till the last drop, a malevolent light coming behind Gale's eyes from a successful conquest.

Damn it. _Damn it_. Had her and Victor practically lost their job? Would they even get any credit for it?

_Well, Victor's going to be pissed,_ Valentine thought as she took a long drink from her gin and prepared herself to call Victor.

* * *

_A Few Hours Earlier_

Florence Gale's attention was immediately caught by the two who were walking into Mooney's club, interrupting her audition, the audition she so desperately needed. Still, she didn't stutter or hesitate as she sang, looking at the odd pair through her lashes, the feeling that she should know these people dancing in the back of her mind, especially as she gazed at the bald man ahead of the black-haired and attractive girl behind him.

With a gesture, Fish had Florence silenced, and she quickly made her leave- to the eyes of everyone else.

Florence stopped just behind the maroon stage curtain, listening with sharp hearing to the conversation. She didn't know why she was so curious, she usually just left things to be, but her interest was particularly piqued, and she had learned to trust her gut. Besides, there wasn't anyone else in the club but herself and everyone in the common area and bar, so there was minimal chance of being caught.

"Who was that?" the man asked, his voice pleasant to the ears, but also strangely flat, and she wondered that if she dared to look, if his expression was just as blank. Besides that, she felt a flush of pride go through her at the inquiry. People didn't ask questions like that unless they were interested, and she had noticed the stutter in the pair's steps as they entered, expression baffled and impressed whilst she sang.

"Our new singer, Florence Gale," Mooney replied, and Florence bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to prevent the squeal of glee that she wanted to emit. She had got the job! No more was the life of living off of stupid and desperate rich men and their inevitable death wills! She forced herself to focus on more than the fact that she had gotten the job, and more on the fact that she was supposed to be eavesdropping.

"But that's not what I called you for," Fish continued, and Florence raised an interested brow. The odd pair had to be someone important, Florence deduced, judging from the fact that people weren't often called for the woman's audience unless they were important, from what Florence heard. Instantly, she began wondering what their occupation could be. She had spotted guns on the man, and though she hadn't noticed if the woman was armed, she had little doubt that she was. Bodyguards? Assassins? She was leaning towards the latter.

The feeling she was being watched suddenly came over her and prickled the back of her neck, and so she sharply turned her head to the side to see that she wasn't alone. A man with black hair, freckles, and brilliant, acid green eyes was also lurking in the shadows. The pair both had the look of someone who had been caught, and then grim understanding when they came to the realization that they were both spying. The man silently crept closer, and Florence narrowed her eyes at him, recognizing him; Mooney's umbrella boy, Oswald Cobblepot.

Nonetheless, Florence turned her attention back to the conversation, even as Cobblepot continued closer.

"-want to make sure this hit stays completely quite and innocuous. I don't want someone getting a bullet at the bar and have people start to think they aren't safe here. It's bad for business," Fish was saying, and Florence's brows were raised. Ah, so they were assassins. Besides her, Cobblepot gave her a somewhat suspicious look, one that was both nervous and a little confused. Florence would've ignored him, seeing as she didn't have time to deal with an umbrella boy, but here, they were friends, conspirators together. She turned and winked, putting a finger to her lips in a "shh" gesture, and turned back to listening in.

"'Course. We have a plan," the man assured, almost playfully, and this time the hiding pair were both completely focused, though Florence noticed a start in her companion's expression, one of alarm, and recognition.

"Right. Well I don't care what the plan is, just as long as we don't have to clean out Mr. Filibuster from the tablecloths," Fish drawled, and now there was a skip in Florence's heartbeat. _That_ wasn't good. Overriding the feeling of panic, came the feeling of possessiveness. Filibuster was _her_ kill, and she be damned if she lost that. Even if she had first been uncomfortable getting rid of her conquests, she had now become attached to the euphoria and power that came from a successful kill, and getting away with it for the better.

She was done listening, though Cobblepot had noticed her expression, and was looking almost concerned at the flash of anger and concern on her features. She just smoothed her expression and her pink bodycon dress, and grabbed him by the elbow. The conversation out there was nearly finished, and she needed to sort some important things out with Cobblepot.

She silently tugged him along, and he didn't protest, probably out of fear that a tussle would alert anyone of their position. She brought them outside out of a back door and into an alleyway, where she let go of him and looked over, fiddling with a false pink gemstone necklace. Of course, it wasn't real silver, or stone, just shiny plastic, but it was what she could afford, with most of her funds having gone to her dying mother, who, tragically, had just died. Despite Florence's distress, she was secretly relived she didn't have to keep up the dangerous game that she had been these past years. Now she could pursue a career she actually wanted, and only have to support herself.

"We should set down some.. agreements," Florence stated first, crossing her arms and meeting Cobblepot's almost anxious gaze. He seemed to be a twitchy fellow, she thought, with somewhat strange features that reminded her sort of a penguin. She did adore the freckles and his eyes, and part of her wanted to squeeze him into a hug, the other was wary and suspicious.

"I agree," he said, and Florence glanced anxiously around, drumming her fingers rhythmically against her bicep.

"So, we both keep our mouths shut, and continue like nothing happened?" she suggested, and Cobblepot followed her anxious gaze with his own.

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed, but then his eyes became a little more alert and focused on her.

"What is Filibuster to you?" he asked, tilting his head curiously, and Florence smirked.

"First, you tell me about the bald man and what he is to you," she countered, and he ground his teeth and flared his nostrils a bit angrily. For a moment he hesitated, looking around anxiously before focusing on her in a way that was eerily intense.

"His name is Victor Zsasz, he lost some money to me gambling. I used it to buy my mother a new apartment," he folded after a brief moment, and Florence raised her brows in interest, but she was also understanding. Yes, she knew plenty about taking care of mothers.

"Filibuster is my catch, so-to-speak. To be crude, my sugar daddy. I got myself into the will, and tonight I plan to kill him," she answered quietly, softly. "I've been using the money to help care for my sick mother." Now it was Cobblepot's turn to look surprised, but a moment later he was sympathetic and understanding.

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said, and Florence looked away sharply to try and hide the fact that her eyes were getting a little misty. People always talked about how the condolences always were annoying, and didn't help at all, but for some reason this one did. The funeral had been cheap, with barely her and some aunts. She hadn't heard anything that sincere in awhile, and it was suddenly affecting her. Cobblepot didn't even know she had died.

"She- she died a few weeks ago," Florence confessed in a shaky voice, though she didn't know why she suddenly trusted the stranger, and she avoided the look of shock and sympathy on his face. Also, the fact that he now looked a bit more awkward at the prospect of a crying woman. He awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.

"Ah- I'm very sorry to hear that Ms..."

"Gale. Florence Gale," she supplied him, and he made a thoughtful sound.

"I'm sure it will all be alright in the end," he tried, and now Florence could see how other people heard condolences and thought them to be bit annoying. She wiped away a stray tear and reined in her emotions, standing a little straighter.

"Right, I should go," she excused herself quickly, and she turned around, getting out of the alley quick as possible.

"Good luck, friend!" Cobblepot called out, and she paused, giving him a thankful smile.

"Thanks, friend."

* * *

Filibuster fell onto his knees on the cold sidewalk, a block or two from Mooney's. A giddy grin came onto Florence's face as he began to go into cardiac arrest as a result of her poison, ignoring his grasping hands, his face shining with sweat, and his expression of terror on his face as he tried to ask for help.

"It's finally happening!" she exclaimed, squealing in happiness, not noticing the black classic car rolling up besides them. She was focused on the look of confusion and terror on Filibuster's face. In the car, Victor turned to Valentine and mouthed, half jokingly "Proposing?" to Valentine, who smirked appreciatively and amused.

"The poison is finally kicking in!" she finished up, an ecstatic expression on her face as Filibuster finally slumped onto the ground, dead and looking betrayed. She stood up straight, satisfied, but froze upon hearing a familiar voice beside her in the car.

"Want to say that a little louder? I don't think we heard you," Victor Zsasz asked, cupping an ear towards her with a hand. The color drained from her face, and she kept her gaze trained on the practically glowing-in-the-dark assassin.

"Thanks for doing our job, I guess. This conversation isn't over though, we'll be seeing you soon, sweetheart," he bade with a salute after several tense and terrifying moments for Florence, and the car left with the beat of disco in it's wake.

_I'm so screwed_, she thought, and with that in mind she fled the scene.

**AN;**

**SO, the homegirl Florence has showed up again, and I thought she and Oswald would totally be little sneaky spy friends. I'm really excited for her, personally, I don't know if you are but I am. Also, can we get an F in the chat for Valentine? Sis out here forced to probably listen the same album of the Weather Girls or something over and over again in stakeouts.**

**Anyways, enough of my gushing. I've decided that around Thursday-Sunday will be around when I update this story, but no promises because I swear everytime I make promises I suddenly lose my muse and I dunno it's just weird so yeah.**

**Also, that little joke at the end is def inspired by Tumblr, but I just thought it would be too perfect, so I used it because I'm unoriginal.**

**"Night Fever" by the Bee Gees**


	5. Ain't No Stopping Us Now

**So, here we are introducing a new character. And what's this? Florence Gale again? Yeah, that'll be cleared up eventually. You know, when I feel like it. I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter before I got sick, so I hope ya'll enjoy.**

**(Also, comment addressing time! You know who you is hunny: I freakin love Florence Welch and The Machines, like, so freaking ethereal! Unfortunately, when creating Florence Gale, she didn't cross my mind -oof- but it's nice to see a fellow who also listens lol. And just, the thought Victor being lowkey a preppy poet nerd and knowing Shakespeare was my everything, and then he actually quoted it in the show and I squeaked. I'm happy that you appreciate my humour tho and that you like how I'm writing Ozzie. Very much. Your comment means a lot. *finger guns*)**

**So, this one is definitely after anything I've written so far in terms of chronology. So far, this is all before season one, although the next chapter *might* be afterwards. I dunno.**

**Disclaimer; Murder, Florence is Drunk/Hungover, Self Harm/Mutilation (Scars), I think that it? I dunno, I'm writing disclaimers while my head is foggier than the corner of the school bathroom where kids vape man**

**I still don't own Gotham or anything affiliated with it. All OCs are mine.**

* * *

"Is there a problem Victor?" Valentine asked with a smirk at the man sitting across from her, whose eye was currently twitching a bit. The problem in question; Valentine was eating her PB&J without cutting off the crust, which was apparently a problem. A headache was growing, and Mabel cast a look at the digital clock on the kitchen counter. It was barely six in the morning.

"That's not how you're supposed to eat it," Victor ground out, and Mabel cast a look at the sandwich on his paper plate, which was also a PB&J, with the crust cut off with surgical precision. Mabel looked down at her own bowl of rainbow-cereal (it was all Victor had, it was his apartment after all) and scrunched up her nose. To be honest, she thought the real question was why they were having sandwiches for breakfast, but she kept her lips sealed. It wouldn't do to have _both_ of them decide she was their next immediate target.

"Whatever Gordon Ramsey. My momma didn't raise no pussy," Valentine taunted, smirking madly, and Victor gasped in offense, clutching at his heart in faux-offense. Mabel hid behind a glass of coffee, and tried to drown them out. She had barely been with them for a few months, but she had quickly learned they were really just overgrown children. She longed for the company of someone else who knew her pain, but Florence Gale was out early on her own little job. Or maybe she had been out clubbing. Mabel wasn't too sure.

"I'm not a-" he struggled a little, unwilling to say anything that crude, and settled for, "a coward." Mabel could see the triumph in Valentine's eyes, and clear mirth. One of Valentine's hobbies, Mabel had learned, was trying to make Victor Zsasz cuss. A real cuss, too, not just "damn", "crap", or "hell" or whatever. No matter what, he refused to betray his gentleman's upbringing. It was almost admirable, in Mabel's opinion, if it wasn't so stupid.

"Says the guy who skins his apples," Valentine was quick to shoot back, taking a large and indecent bite of her sandwich. Mabel actually snorted, and ignored the glare from Victor as she took a scoop of her cereal.

"I have manners and taste, thank you," Victor huffed, but he knew he was a bit outstripped in this one, seeing as Valentine had endless material, and would take great joy in rubbing that in his face. Mabel's scars on her wrist ached a bit in longing for a kill, specifically the two brats in front of her, but she stamped it down with another large spoonful of cereal. For every kill she made she carved in a notch, one that healed over as a spherical scar. Otherwise known as "crocodile scars" to some, they were raised scars, fifteen bumps for fifteen kills. It was a pain in the ass to make them keep and have them successfully raise, but Mabel thought it was worth it. Her little ritual had also been a great bonding point between her and Victor, who had found her method fascinating, and vice versa. Luckily, a pink and drunk distraction arrives.

"I have returned!" Florence announced loudly and obnoxiously as she threw open the door to the apartment, clad in a black croptop, pink velvet shorts, black fishnets, black ankles boots, and finally, a pink leather jacket. So, she had been clubbing then, Mabel concluding. Besides the fact that her headache was only made worse, she was grateful for any way to distract Valentine and Victor from their little roasting session.

"Oh dear," came simultaneously from all three sitting at the round table, and Mabel was the first to move forward and steady her drunk associate/friend. Calling Florence her friend was a little awkward to Mabel, seeing as she came from being cold, cruel, and professional, but after being with Victor and the girls, she was slowly starting to break out of that, no matter the immaturity of them.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Mabel hissed as she helped the teetering blonde into an armchair, ignoring the bloody shirt draped over the back of it. Almost instantly her line of thought was shattered when another pair of heeled footsteps entered the brown and sorta depressing apartment, though immaculately clean, and she whirled around to see who could only be the one and only Czarina Zsasz.

"I found her about to commit triple homicide in a back alley, figure'd I'd drag her out of there before she shot her own foot off." Czarina Zsasz actually took Mabel's breath away. She was wearing tight black leather pants with thin chains suspended at the belt as Victor occasionally wore, a lacy black long-sleeved mesh top and lacy black bralette underneath, with high heeled black ankle-boots and had a black leather jacket hung over her arm. Her hair was brown and curly, let loose and reaching her shoulders. She was pale like Victor, and she could see the resemblance in the face shape, but her eyes were a dark forest green, unlike Victor's dark chocolate. She was, in Mabel's humble opinion, an assassin goddess of beauty.

"Thanks sis," Victor said with a beaming smile, one that bore actual happiness different from when he was on the hunt, and he strided over to her with grace, hugging her tightly. She returned it in full, and Mabel quickly redirected her gaze to Florence, feeling like she was witnessing something off-bounds and intimate, and to the blonde who had now passed out and was snoring lightly.

"You look well, Voldemort," Czarina commented, holding him out at arms length, and he put his hands over his heart and tilted his head to side.

"Aww. I'm touched, Hermione Granger," he gushed, and Czarina smacked his shoulder with an expression of exaggerated offense.

Mabel sighed heavily as she stood up and made her way to the kitchen and the cupboard that would have the hangover pill Florence would be most certainly crying about once she returned to the land of the living. As she did, she stopped at the wooden counter and softly fingered a notch in the counter, that, if her investigations were correct, had been made a knife. She had asked about it once, and all she got was Valentine pointing at Victor, who had gave a short salute and went back to cleaning his guns. It was a mystery, but she could imagine it might've been the product of a called off or failed hit.

"Brat," Czarina huffed playfully, and Victor snickered, making his way back to the kitchen table. Mabel filled up a foggy glass with water and set it on the counter, right next to the pills. It was a failed distraction from the fact that Victor's hot sister was here, and all Mabel was wearing was baggy black sweatpants with a green marijuana symbol on the side that she didn't remember buying, and an over sized grey sweater with a few questionable stains on the sleeves. That, and the fact that her hair was still in a silk bonnet to protect her kinky curls. She wasn't exactly set to woo anyone.

"Victor, you haven't introduced me to your new friend," Czarina prompted, and Mabel felt her heart rate pick up a bit. She prayed to God, if there was one, that Victor wouldn't embarrass her more than she would embarrass herself. She turned around and smiled, hoping it looked natural. Victor had a mischievous and knowing look in his eyes.

"Czarina Zsasz, this is Mabel. She's a trained assassin, used to work for The Lady, expert at everything sniper and fighting," Victor introduced, and Mabel smiled gratefully at the thorough introduction. She was proud of her marksmanship and combat skills. She could overtake a target much larger and stronger with her with speed and precision, and come out looking far better than the other. She was excellent when it came to clean and quick sniper shots. It was one of the reasons The Lady had employed her and more than one high-profile job.

"Impressive," Czarina hummed as she approached and stuck out a hand for Mabel to take, which she did. Czarina's grasp was firm, and the handshake short and professional. Then, a curious light came into Czarina's eyes as she backed away and leaned against the arm of the mustard colored sofa. Valentine finished her sandwich and stood up to toss the paper plate away, a great look of disinterest on her features.

"So, why'd you get dropped? The last I heard, hitmen only get out of her care if they're a Flamingo case," Czarina inquired, and Mabel grimaced. She knew perfectly well what Czarina was referring to. Eduardo Flamingo, cannibal and total psychopath, had been fired by The Lady after she had had enough of his total disregard for anything... sane. Victor just raised his brows at her and she sighed a little in resignation, pulling up her left sleeve and showing Czarina her inner forearm, fifteen kill scars, two recently cut.

"She thought my ritual was a bit barbaric, and though my methods of elimination were solid, she didn't appreciate my refusal to stop. The straw that broke the camel's back was when I accepted a hit through someone other than her, she was insulted," she explained, and she could tell Czarina was counting the marks as she stewed on her story. Czarina gestured to the scars and then smirked.

"It's like you and Victor could be soulmates," she teased, and Mabel blushed, ignoring the fact that Valentine had choked on her apple juice from a sudden spurt of laughter and may as well have been dying in the corner of the kitchen. Victor grinned behind his hand and rose his nonexistent brows at her again. _Screw you_, she thought viciously.

"I'm not into men," Mabel corrected, keeping her glaring gaze on Victor, though anything anyone would have said was thankfully interrupted by Victor's ringtone of _Funkytown_, a call that he immediately took, expression sobering immediately. A "Sure Boss" later and he flipped his phone shut, looking quite pleased.

"We've got a job girls, get ready," he informed, standing up quite suddenly. He didn't have to get ready, seeing as he had already gotten dressed and only needed to get his holsters and guns. Valentine had dressed as well, though just in casual jeans and turtleneck. She had also stopped choking, though her blue eyes were still watering, but she was still smirking madly.

"Great," Mabel said, and in a flash she had escaped to the bedroom she shared (platonically, mind you) with Valentine and Florence, eager to escape any awkward topics. As she left, the sound of a gun being put together could be heard, and Valentine followed closely after her.

* * *

"So, just another schmuck who didn't pay Falcone his dues?" Valentine asked, her black butterfly knife in hand as she casually did her tricks, flipping it in the air and doing all sorts of things that looked incredibly dangerous in Mabel's opinion, but it was also very pleasing to watch. Valentine wore black high-waisted shorts, red fishnets that came above the waistline of the shorts, black leather ankle boots, and a red spaghetti strap crop top. On her hip was a sleek black handgun for when the time came.

"No, a traitor," Victor corrected, and Mabel hummed thoughtfully, double checking to see if her gun was loaded. It was. She herself was wearing dark camouflage pants tucked into black combat boots along with a black belt. Over a black brallete and black fishnet top was a buckled up black leather under-bust corset. In one hand was a gun, with her other gun still in it's holster at her hip. They had left Czarina with Florence, though Czarina would have to leave at nightfall back to Metropolis for a job of her own.

"We're gonna approach, intimidate and get our point across, and then a clean shot. Anyone who tries to oppose can be yours, the main guy is mine," Victor said, laying it all out for them as they stood in front of the bar that said target was. Mabel checked her watch, which read seven o'clock on the dot.

"Sounds good Boss," they chorused, and Mabel drew her other gun, safety clicking off with her thumbs. Valentine, on Victor's left side, snapped the butterfly knife shut and tucked it safely into the back pocket of her shorts and drew her gun. Victor was focused, and it was now that his dark eyes were almost blank, and he was completely serious.

They entered the bar, and their entrance was heralded by the chiming of bells. A few people reflexively glanced up, and instantly froze, gaze's landing on their guns and presentation, their looks centering particularly on Victor. Victor casually advanced, Mabel and Valentine stiff and gazing around darkly. Valentine swiped a man's drink from the bar counter, and in order to attract everyone's attention, she threw it as hard as possible down at the ground, the glass shattering loudly and alcohol soaking into the scuffed hardwood. Victor smirked.

The entire bar fell completely silent, and Victor zeroed in on a man sitting at the far end of the bar, looking like he had just pissed his pants. Now, _that_ was something that made Mabel smile.

"Hi," Victor greeted, tilting his head to the side and smiling. The man gulped but he still stood up and tried for a calm and composed look. It was horribly unsuccessful.

"Hey," he returned, and a couple of his friends narrowed their eyes and shifted. They were the shooting, gorilla kind of friends, and it was easily recognized that they were getting ready to shoot.

"So, Gregory," Victor took another step forward, "you must know why we're here." The man smiled innocently, and Mabel sneered. He was the kind of guy that was going to drag this out, maybe try to escape. Not that she was complaining, because it was more fun that way, but it was still dishonorable nonetheless. She turned to the couple sitting at the table for two besides her, and snagged a nacho from their plate for herself.

"I'm afraid I don't, Mr. Zsasz," Gregory replied, and whilst Mabel chewed, Victor's nostrils flared in clear annoyance. Though he enjoyed the hunt and thrill, stupidity was not something he appreciated, and patience was not one of his virtues. Y'know, if he had any.

"So, you're saying that you didn't act as a mole for the authorities against Don Falcone?" Victor questioned, advancing further with the girls besides him. He was leaning forward a bit, clearly expecting an answer.

"Wasn't me." Victor sneered, and Mabel readied her fingers on the triggers, an instinct in her telling her that the other shoe was very close to dropping.

"Well," Victor drawled, "that's very interesting, seeing as the Don seems to think that you're a traitor." Soon, there was only a yard of space between them, and Victor stopped. The man stuttered for a few moments before coming up with an answer. Everyone seemed to stop breathing as they waited.

"Well, I don't know why he would think that- I-I'm no snitch." You could've heard a pin drop, and Victor straightened, regarding the shorter man sharply.

"Are you calling Don Falcone a liar?" he asked slowly, and immediately Gregory began to backtrack, but Victor drew a gun, and in a brilliant flash and a bang, there was a bullet between Gregory's watery eyes, and he was dead on the ground. Mabel and Valentine shared a glance, and there was a deafening silence, everyone else's gaze trained the dead body.

"Does everybody get the memo?" Victor called out, sweeping his gaze over the room, and he was met with silence. Mabel and Valentine just glared at the clients, stone cold figures.

"I SAID," he began with a shouting growl,"does everybody get the memo?" There were whimpers of understanding, and that lopsided, toothy grin of his appeared as he leered at them. Mabel found it hard to believe that this impressive, absolutely admirable predator of a man could be the same who had argued with Valentine over sandwich crusts just an hour ago.

"Good," he purred, and he sharply turned on his heel, putting his his guns back into his holstered, and began to swiftly walk out of the bar, the two women doing the same with hands in loose fists at their side as they exited the shell-shocked crowd and bar.

* * *

"Great fun as always, girls," Victor toasted with a glass of whiskey in one hand, grinning as he leaned his back against the kitchen counter. All murmuring agreements after their glasses clinked together, save for a hungover Florence, took a long drink. After a moment of comfortable silence, Czarina turned to Mabel with a spark of mischief in her eyes.

"Y'know, Haly's Circus is coming around soon," she drawled, swirling the drink in her glass, "maybe you could pick up a hot chick up there." Mabel thought on it as she took another sip. After the initial shock of seeing Czarina, and the disappointment that she was completely straight, Mabel was able to quickly move on. No use crying over spilled milk. Also she was great at compartmentalizing.

"You know, I think that sounds like a great idea," she agreed, and the two girls shared a smile. A great idea indeed.

**So, did I mention I'm sick? I've decided that any typos in this are just going to be ignored or whatever because I can't muster the strength to properly edit anything, but I also had this chapter basically finished, and I haven't posted anything in a while so yeah.**

**The fact that we won't be seeing Victor anymore tho is lowkey really depressing tho. Like, apparently we won't even see him in the ten year time jump when he's all stabby stabby and batshit insane. Honestly, disappointing, but I get it. Freaking Fox man.**

**Ain't No Stopping Us Now by "McFadden and Whitehead"**

**Mabel's Fc; Milan Dixon**


End file.
